Talk Dirty or Die
by Sykira
Summary: Just a short scene during a post-JE, post-fixit visit to Earth


Pairing: 10/Donna

Rating: pg-13

Summary: Just a short scene during a post-JE, post-fixit visit to Earth

Author Notes: This so wants to be the first chapter of something smuttier, but it isn't going anywhere for now, it's self-contained as a standalone too. Credit to Roberta for the story idea/porn battle prompt: _the Doctor having to talk dirty in his language to keep Donna's mind from melting_

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><p>Sylvia frowned crossly across the dinner table as Donna gripped onto the tablecloth so hard she shook the teacups in their saucers.<p>

"Well, don't mind us!" Sylvia intoned pointedly.

But neither her daughter nor that exasperating young man she had taken up with paid her a whit of attention.

Sylvia cleared her throat, to no avail. The Doctor's mouth was right at Donna's ear, whispering intently, all his focus on the woman he was sitting far too close to for polite company. And for her part, Donna was squirming in her chair like a preschooler on the verge of wetting herself.

Sylvia tsked. She had thought her daughter looked a bit peaky when the two of them had first shown up on the doorstep, and the Doctor had hovered too close to Donna all evening. Now her cheeks pink and her white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table was making their untouched tea slosh around in Sylvia's best china teacups.

Sylvia looked to her dad in hopes of an ally but Wilf was sitting back in his chair, nursing his tea and pretending to watch what little he could see of the football on the telly through the kitchen door.

"Dad! Aren't you going to do something about these two?" Sylvia demanded, slinging her tea towel over her shoulder with an indignant hrumph.

"What's that, love?" Wilf responded mildly, firmly averting his eyes and raising his tea to his mouth not quite quickly enough for Sylvia to miss the smile that played about his lips.

Sighing in frustration, Sylvia could see it was up to her, as usual, to maintain decorum. She stood up abruptly and bustled around the couple, lifting their dinner plates with a loud clatter then crashing them into the sink when Donna and the Doctor continued to ignore her. The Doctor's hand was low on Donna's back, his lips murmuring quiet unintelligible words into her ear, and he was doing a fair bit of squirming around in his seat himself now.

"You two!" she addressed them smartly. "Stop mooching about like a pair of lovesick teenagers or I'll send you to your room, Miss! Don't think you're too old, while you're under my roof I have none of—"

Her words were cut off abruptly by the sudden scrape of Donna's chair as she pushed back from the table and grabbed the Doctor to keep from falling over on account of standing up too fast.

"Yes, Mum," she muttered, her mind obviously elsewhere, and then without so much as a by-your-leave, dragging the Doctor along behind her with his tie, Donna was gone, up the stairs and into her bedroom.

"Thanks for a lovely dinn—" the Doctor's voice floated down to them before the door slammed closed on his words.

Following them, agog, Sylvia and Wilf stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up after them. They heard the telltale snick of Donna's bedroom door lock.

Sylvia closed her open mouth with a snap, and breathed out through her nostrils while she mentally counted to ten. She got to three before she was shouting again, her voice shrill.

"Now you listen here, Madam, you know perfectly well that I didn't mean taking ihim/i to your room with you!"

She was about to go on, her mind conjuring up all kinds of creative dire threats, when she felt her dad's hand on her arm.

"Aye now, love, let's let them be, I reckon they just be needing some alone time tonight, they'll come down in their own time."

"But dad!" Sylvia sputtered. "You know what they are getting up to up there, don't you?"

Wilf just smiled, and led his daughter back into the kitchen, pausing to turn up the volume on the TV set before the noises from upstairs became any more noticeable.


End file.
